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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253305">to melt the gilded seams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrequirose/pseuds/contrequirose'>contrequirose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(s), Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Caleb is the crown prince of the Empire, Courtship, Disabled Character, Emotional Manipulation, Essek - Freeform, Essek is ... well, Magical Theory, Mental Health Issues, Mind Manipulation, Miscommunication, Multi, Politics, Polyamory Negotiations, Religion, Worldbuilding, misuse of dnd mechanics, obscure background characters given life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:47:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrequirose/pseuds/contrequirose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crown Prince Caleb Widogast, formerly Bren Aldric Ermendrud, is less than thrilled to be married. He has his duty, and he will fulfill it, but it is less than ideal. Firstly, because he has plans, and doesn't need distractions to stop him from changing this country for the better, and secondly, because he's been in love with his childhood best friends for years now, and has no intention of stopping just because he's getting married for the cause of peace.</p><p>Lord Essek Thelyss, former traitor to his country, is less than thrilled to be married. He has a role to play, and by gods he will play it, but it is more like he is dancing with his shoes turned into knives. A single misstep, and he will be back in the Dynasty, serving out his sentence til the end of his days. He's not sure if he could hate his husband more than he does before even meeting him, but no one said he had to love the man. Simply marry him.</p><p>(probably abandoned, sorry, lost all motivation for this)</p><p>To the surprise of no one, this is a story about falling in love. And about treachery, and betrayal, and found family, and politics, and magic.<br/>But - mostly about falling in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Astrid/Eodwulf/Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>180</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you nervous?”</p><p>Fjord’s voice rang out loudly in the relative silence of the cart, only the sound of the wheels and the hooves of the horses moving resonating through the padded seats. They’ve been traveling for almost four days, on this leg of their journey, having just left Felderwin.</p><p>Gods, he doesn’t want to think about Felderwin. What a mess. Bad enough that his own country burned almost half the tillage. Staring into the faces of those people as they slowly rolled through the streets of town - it makes him wish he could go back in time and strangle himself so that this war could have never begun.</p><p>“I think I would be foolish not to be,” Essek responds slowly, and he is rewarded with Fjord’s slight wince. Good. He knew he was being obvious, then.</p><p>“Still,” Fjord presses, “This is - honestly, I still can’t believe you agreed to this. To all of this. It wasn’t that bad back in the city -”</p><p>He grimaces, and leans towards his half-orc friend. “They would have kept me locked in that tower till I died, Fjord,” he hisses. “Till I was old, and decrepit, and rotting to the bone. Long after you all had perished. And then I would be reborn, and be right back in the thick of it. Charges for treason don’t just <em>go away</em>.”</p><p>Fjord blinks, wilts, and leans away, eyes flitting to the window as the scenery whizzes past.</p><p>“Sorry. I - I know that. This is just… not to be rude, Essek, but it’s strange.”</p><p>Essek clenches his hands in his lap, and turns his eyes out the window. Even the trees here are different. No shades of purple or black at all, just brown and green smudging themselves together into a drab landscape.</p><p>“It’s very strange,” he agrees quietly, staring out the window. “But this offers more freedom than the alternative.”</p><p>Silence reigns, for a long moment, only broken by the faint noise outside. He would have spelled the carriage to be quiet, to keep this journey more comfortable, but -</p><p>Well, for one, he wants to be able to know if something has gone wrong. They are in peace, but he would not put it past Empire farmers to come after their envoy with a grudge.</p><p>… And, secondly, he is still not supposed to be using magic at all. The cuffs had been removed, thank all the gods he doesn’t believe in, but he’s not supposed to. And that wouldn’t really stop him, it wouldn’t, but - he can’t afford to slip up and make his sentence worse than it already is. This is his chance at living without being chained to the Dynasty, even if he’s just trading one chain for another.</p><p>Humans don’t live so long, in the grand scheme of things, he tells himself for the hundredth time. Even if his - and he hates thinking this, but the day grows closer with every passing minute - future husband is as evil and cruel as he expects him to be, he will have merely a century, at most, to put up with it.</p><p>It’s a very long time, but he thinks he can be patient. He hopes he can be patient.</p><p>Just a century, and then he will have fulfilled his duty and can find a beacon and off himself in peace to be reborn with a clean slate. Only a century.</p><p>His fingers dig into the flesh of his palms, and he uncurls his hands slowly.</p><p>Just a century. He can do that. He’s a hundred and twenty-some years old, for gods’ sake. He can do this.</p><p>Gods, he can’t do this.</p><p>Fjord’s hand on his knee doesn’t make him flinch, but it’s a near thing. The other man’s gaze is nothing but kindness that he doesn’t deserve.</p><p>“It won’t be so bad,” Fjord says, quiet. “We’ll be there, besides. Liliana and Sindar, too. You won’t be alone.”</p><p>He places his hand over Fjord’s, and squeezes in silent thanks. “Don’t remind me. I’m still astounded that those two managed to work their way up in the hierarchy so fast to be allowed to come on as retainers.”</p><p>His niece - well, technically his cousin-once-removed, but that language of familial politics has no place in his life - is a fiery one, and one that he would rather not see brought back to the Empire. She’d grown up here, in the trees of Bysaes Tyl, years ago, but she and her parents had fled when the skirmishes at Nogvurot had turned the treatment of the drow in the empire firmly backwards. He’d helped vouch for them to take sanctuary in Rosohna himself, and now he’s carrying her with him on his idiotic mission into the heart of enemy lands.</p><p>He needs to stop calling it enemy lands. The war is over, he reminds himself. It’s over. What he is doing is part of making sure that it <em>stays</em> over.</p><p>But Liliana is stubborn, above all else, and talented at note-taking, at organizing, at accomplishing any task set out before her. She will be a fine retainer, if that’s something he needs in the castle, and a fine assistant if he’s allowed to cast magic again. He just hopes that the castle is more accessible, or at least more tolerant that Rosohna could be. Bad enough that he learned how to float to shove his talent in the face of his peers, and to compensate for his shit joints and a city built from inane staircases and layers. That’s the only magic that the Queen allowed him to retain, even when he had to wear the cuffs. It’s the only magic he’s allowed to cast now, even if he restrains himself to a bare space off the floor so it isn’t immediately obvious. Liliana has less mobility than he does, and her braces are much more noticeable. If the court here takes umbrage with her method of getting around - well.</p><p>He doesn’t want her in the Empire, he doesn’t want her to risk herself, but at the end of the day he’s selfish. At least with her there he’ll retain some part of home. An excuse to go back to Rosohna to visit her parents, his cousins. And Sindar’s parents - Sindar, Liliana’s partner, who is less coming with them to be a retainer and more coming with them just for something to do - are still diplomats to Vasselheim, and important enough that the king wouldn’t dare risk harming him, so that protection should extend to Liliana.</p><p>He’s less sure for himself, but that’s a problem he’ll cross when he gets to it.</p><p>“How long until we reach Zadash?”</p><p>Fjord hums, and peers out the window again. “I think Ul’org said we were to camp for the night, and then,” he coughs, under his breath, and mimics Ul’org’s slow, slurred speech, “’We will greet the city upon the rays of the Luxon’s first light.’”</p><p>He makes eye contact with Essek, and they both crack a grin at the same time. The leader of the soldiers guarding their caravan, Garenthia Ul’rog, is a dragonborn with more faith than wits about him, even if he’s loyal to a fault to the royal line. Not that Essek is royalty, truly, but he’s about to become a consort to a king.</p><p>He shivers. He’s about to become a consort to a king.</p><p>Fjord squeezes his knee again. “I’m sure Prince Widogast won’t be <em>that</em> bad, Essek. People speak favorably of him.”</p><p>He doesn’t respond, and stares out the window again.</p><p>People who speak favorably of him don’t have to be the one’s living in his household, he thinks faintly.</p><p>Or the ones warming his bed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Caleb wakes up with the sour taste of an unwashed mouth and altogether too much hair shoved in it, besides. He spits it out and blows a raspberry against the nearest bit of exposed skin he can find, causing the person beside him to shriek, roll over, and hit him with a pillow.</p><p>“Careful, <em>liebling</em>,” he murmurs, a smirk crawling across his face. “Don’t give Noskele and Hahn reason to rush in here, they already know we’re sleeping together. They don’t need to see us naked.”</p><p>Astrid rolls her eyes and sets the pillow back in place. “You <em>know</em> the silencing charms only fail if there’s actual danger, else they would be subjected to your noise every time you got yourself in a state. It’s fine. And thank you for that, truly, what a wake up! Exactly what I needed at the tender hour of -” she stops, and stares at him, expectantly.</p><p>With a single glance out his window - clear blue skies above, the crests of the towers in the distance glimmering with just the faintest hint of light - he responds, “About six-thirteen.”</p><p>“Six in the <em>fucking</em> morning, when you know very well that we don’t have to be awake until seven.”</p><p>He shrugs, unrepentant, and nudges Eodwulf’s thigh with his toes, smirking harder when his friend lets out a cut off groan and curls into himself.</p><p>“Thought I would annoy you. We hardly get any alone time anymore.”</p><p>It’s hard to keep up the levity in the room, after that statement. His impending marriage looms over all of them like a hanging blade.</p><p>“We will still find time after he arrives, <em>sassa</em>,” he murmurs. “It will be okay.”</p><p>She scowls at him, but tucks herself against him, his arms coming around her shoulders in an automatic movement as Eodwulf slowly brings himself awake beside them.</p><p>“I hope he isn’t cruel,” she says, whispered against the soft linen of his night clothes. “I hope he lets us stay.”</p><p>He presses a soft kiss to her hairline, and doesn’t voice the doubts in his mind.</p><p>He does not know what the Dynasty’s view on non-typical relationships is. He does not know how his future husband will react to the news that his spouse-to-be has been fucking his guards into the ground for the past five years. It is unconventional enough to be forced to remain a secret from all but the closest of his confidants, and he isn’t exactly in the position to have many of those.</p><p>The king knows. His pair of former scourgers, Hannelore Noskele and Sascha Hahn - too young by far to still be serving, but too damaged to really live their lives doing anything else. He’s happy enough to let them stand guard for him while they figure out what their lives will look like outside of Ikithon’s grasp. His retainer, Willoughby, she knows, but she would be more likely to turn into an owl and fly away than dare to reveal a secret she’s been charged with keeping. He assumes that Olivier knows, given his… relationship with the king, but he cannot assume for sure. It’s a mostly safe bet that the head of the Augen Trust knows, but given that he’s not supposed to know that small fact, he cannot be sure of anything.</p><p>Beyond that - some servants most likely have figured it out at some point, but they are wise enough, and like him enough, to keep that conversation amongst themselves. The Assembly know the identities of his guards, but not their relationship, and he would like to keep it that way.</p><p>It would only put them more at risk, and he’s already asked so much of them.</p><p>“Breathe, Caleb.”</p><p>He does so - and when he had started slipping more into his patterns of anxiety, he isn’t sure, but he welcomes the touch of Eodwulf’s hand as his partner rests his palm flat against his chest.</p><p>“It will be alright. Perhaps we will all fall in love and have a happily ever after.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes almost involuntarily, and Wulf laughs, patting his chest. “C’mon, it could happen! Stranger things have occurred. Most likely he’ll find an associate for his own and won’t care.”</p><p>“We can only hope. Now, are we going to take advantage of a blessedly calm thirty minutes before Willoughby comes charging in here to start the day? We only have a week until Lord Thelyss arrives.”</p><p>He smiles at her - as innocent as he can make it - and then grabs Eodwulf by the shoulder, rolling over so that he’s on top of the larger man, staring down into his stunned face.</p><p>“Let’s make the most of it, <em>ja</em>?”</p><p>And with that, he lowers himself into a kiss, and shoves all anxiety of his impending nuptials away.</p><p>A week is enough time for him to panic later. For right now, he has his partners in bed, and exactly where he wants them.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They roll into Zadash with what seems to be at least half the city gawking at them from the sides of the roads, people of all shapes, colors, and sizes coming out to see - he spots dragonborn, elves, half-orcs, humans, halflings, and gnomes before he lets the curtains on the window slide shut again. No drow, that he could see. No full-blooded orcs, either, or goblins, or minotaurs, or bugbears.</p><p>God, he’s glad now that he didn’t insist any more of the guard he had stationed with him in Rosohna to come with him. It must have been a miracle that his Queen deigned to let him take Jester and Mollymauk, as tieflings. He had spotted only a single pair in the crown, both much drabber and less decorated than his friends.</p><p>Jester, across from him, is still staring out her side of the window, waving excitedly at people as they continue through the streets of the city. They switch out who sits with him, in the main carriage. The others are either riding horseback or on the second carriage with Liliana and Sindar.</p><p>His carriage is built to be ostentatious and annoying, not comfortable. He would much rather have just teleported to Rexxentrum, but both sides had made fanfare about a ceremonial journey. A journey that’s lasted almost a month, now, as he was ferried between Bazzoxan, Urzin, Asarius, and then onto the empire, briefly stopping at Talonstadt once they had made it through the mountains, and then through Felderwin and the tillage and - well, and now here. Zadash. The second-largest city in the Empire.</p><p>He can’t say he’s fond of it.</p><p>They are to stop here for a handful of days before setting out to Rexxentrum, a journey that will take four days, give or take a few hours, and then -</p><p>He swallows, and ignores the look Jester is giving him.</p><p>And then he will be introduced to the King’s court, and will be formally engaged to Crown Prince Widogast. A few weeks after that, when the preparations are complete, he will be married.</p><p>“Stop thinking so hard, Essek,” Jester sings, bouncing in her seat as she lets her curtains close, finally satisfied with looking outside. “Zadash is <em>very</em> pretty, and we should get to see at least some of it while we are here! Oh, oh - we can go see Pumat! We told you about him, didn’t we?”</p><p>He smiles weakly. “That you did, Jester. The firbolg with the arcane constructs?”</p><p>She nods, her hair bouncing along with her. “Mhm! He made the bag I have, the pink one, remember? And we bought a ton of cool stuff from him, and he’s really nice. Oh! And we met some people here last time we were here - we fought in this big tournament, you see, and then met some mage people but they weren’t that important except we met this dude, and he had like - he had dirt that was just falling off of him, you know? Yasha says he’s an earth genasi, but like I wouldn’t really know because I’ve never met another one so maybe he was just really dirty for some reason -”</p><p>Jester rambles on as his smile becomes fixed in place. He had almost forgotten about that. (No, he hadn’t.) That one of the archmages of the Cerberus Assembly lived in Zadash. That he will now be exposed to the assembly on a constant basis.</p><p>“- and he really likes small animals, he told us - Essek, are you even… oh, Essek…”</p><p>He blinks, and looks away, down at his hands.</p><p>Huh. They’re shaking. He wonders when that started.</p><p>“Essek, hey, in and out, you got it.” He doesn’t move when Jester touches his shoulder, her other hand across her own chest as she breathes exaggeratedly. “Nice deep breath, in and out -”</p><p>He tries to follow her directions, and probably fails. Gods, the Assembly. If the king doesn’t have him killed when he finds out what he did to his own lands, then the Assembly will do it themselves for daring to live past his usefulness expiring. Gods, but he doesn’t - the horrors he knows of the Assembly, the things that he knows they do to their prisoners, to their own people -</p><p>“Essek,” Jester’s voice calls, and it comes to him like a faint chime of a bell ringing through water.</p><p>Her hand presses against his cheek, and he stiffens, waiting for pain that doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a wave of icy coolness that spreads through his body, tempering down his thoughts and panic until he’s treading icy water instead of drowning in the waves.</p><p>He waits a moment, to make sure his voice won’t break when he speaks, and then says, “Did you cast Calm Emotions on me, Ms. Lavorre?”</p><p>Jester frowns at him, unrepentant. “You were freaking out, and I’m not as good at calming you down as Yasha or Fjord is. Also - um.”</p><p>She pats his cheek again, and sits back up. “I think we’re here, and you are probably going to need your politics face.”</p><p>He frowns, himself, and tries to shrug away the chill, pushing his anxiety down. He can - he can have a proper panic attack later, when he’s alone. Right now he needs to put a politic face forward.</p><p>A cloth provided by Jester wipes any evidence of stress or tears from his face, and he brushes nonexistent lint from his robes with a wave of his hand. Right, then. He is a Lord of his house, and he will behave himself appropriately.</p><p>Liliana is the one to open his carriage door, and Jester steps out first, the straps on her armor - and her Traveler symbol, that he realizes nobody has told her yet to hide - gleaming in the sunlight.</p><p>He steps out next, and Lili catches him under the shade of a parasol before any of his skin can fester in the light. He flashes her a grateful look, and she smiles back at him, her own sun protection in the form of a large, floppy sunhat. Sindar stands behind her, his own simpler parasol open above him.</p><p>When he turns to face the delegation greeting them, his heart stutters in his ears, and he mentally promises to thank Jester for her spell, else he’d probably be passing out right now.</p><p>Starosta Fedar is not a surprise, as the nominal ruler of the city. Neither is the Lawmaster or the pair of Righteous Brand soldiers lingering behind them.</p><p>Archmage of Cultivation, Oremid Haas, however, is an unwelcome surprise. He’s never met the man, not directly, but if the glint in his eye is anything to go by, the man knows <em>exactly</em> who he is.</p><p>“Welcome to Zadash, Lord Thelyss. I trust your journey has been pleasant?” Fedar steps forward, a hand extended, and he stares at it for a moment before stepping forward to shake it as well. Gods damned Empire customs. He bows, in return, at the Lawmaster and to Archmage Haas - a carefully calculated degree, to show that he is treating them not as equals but as positions slightly lower to his own without showing any disrespect, though he had no doubt that the nuance is lost on the both of them - and raises his head once more, a smile fitting itself into place.</p><p>“Very pleasant indeed, your Grace. You have a beautiful city,” he says lowly, charm bleeding into his words. Panic can wait, he reminds himself. Panic can wait.</p><p>“I’m sure you are eager to rest in a proper bed, my Lord, but the Archmage here has expressed interest to let you tour the Halls of Erudition, if you would be so obliged? I’m sure further discussion of hospitality can wait till you have quenched your interest in this matter. He tells us that you are practiced in the arcane!”</p><p>The Starosta smiles at him, and he clocks the man as an idiot. The Lawmaster, doubly so, because he is missing that his Grace is clearly under at least some mild enchantment spell, if the faint layer of gold sheen he can just see in his eyes is anything to go by.</p><p>“I would be honored to give you a tour of my school, my Lord. I’m sure one of arcane talents such as you are just beaming at the opportunity.” Haas steps forward, and his smile is just as sharp as his eyes.</p><p>“Shall we?”</p><p>He offers an arm, and really -</p><p>Gods, he can’t refuse, can he.</p><p>He steps up to Haas, pretending not to see the proffered arm, and masks his floating with carefully measured steps as they start to walk toward the school, Liliana a step behind him, and Jester and Yasha two steps behind her.</p><p>Fjord, Beau, and Mollymauk will likely be helping Sindar unload what they need for a few days stay at whatever Inn they decide to put them up in. That’s reassuring, at least. He knows that they’re safe.</p><p>He wishes he could say the same about himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“And if Your Highness could turn to page sixteen of the second document and initial on the bottom line - Yes, good, there - and again on page eighteen, the third paragraph - yes, alright.” Willoughby takes back the sheets of parchment, flipping through them with a careful eye before rolling them back up, tied with the seemingly-infinite amount of ribbon she keeps at her waist. The wax-melter hovering over the candle flits back to her hand, and she measures out a dollop of molten golden wax, covering the tie on the ribbon as she then offers it to him.</p><p>He takes it, his signet ring pressing into the wax with a flex of his hand, and hands it back once the wax instantly dries, a flash of red-gold-green magic wisping up from it in small drifts of light.</p><p>“Thank you, Your Highness. That’s the last of the ones that need to be signed today, and I will have Tim and Drake take those to the weaving guild as soon as possible. Is Your Highness ready for tea?”</p><p>He groans, and rubs a hand over his face. It feels like it’s been barely thirty minutes since lunch, but he knows that it’s been three hours. Time - especially with Willoughby speaking fast enough to outrun a galloping horse - seems to go by too quickly for his liking, this week.</p><p>“As I’ve said time and time before, it’s <em>Caleb</em>,” he gently corrects Willoughby, and smiles as her ears redden.</p><p>“I will say no such thing, Your Highness,” she says, her nose raising just a bit. “You deserve to be treated with the proper respect for one of your station.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes at her, and she sticks out her tongue back before standing straight again, hands flitting down to flick through the appointment book she keeps tied to her belt. Gods know how she can read anything that’s written in there, he thinks regretfully. She still hasn’t deigned to teach him the code she uses, and he still hasn’t managed to crack it.</p><p>If he was a betting man, he would put a platinum on it being a devolved dialect of Sylvan, mixed with enough ancient Celestial to give anyone a headache, but the amount of seemingly incomprehensible bird calls written in, like obscure onomatopoeia, still stymie him.</p><p>Astrid muffles a chuckle behind his back, and he flips her the bird without looking.</p><p>“As I said, it’s time for afternoon tea, and then you have a meeting with Theolomaster Hariwalt and their assistant to discuss whether you want to structure the ceremony in a more modern manner, modeled after the past Dawnfather directed ceremonies, or to emulate the past to bring in more ties to the Archeart.”</p><p>He nods, smiling faintly, and stands. Astrid is at his side, immediately, and holds his elbow as he shrugs off a wave of dizziness, his cane placed into the grip of his left palm before he can even take a step.</p><p>“As I said, Your Highness, time for afternoon tea. Shall we? I believe Master Hüten will be present, provided that he’s finished with his appointment with Madam Mirabel regarding his new uniforms.”</p><p>He takes a step, Astrid still holding onto his elbow, and gently lets her step away with the dizziness doesn’t return. “Sounds wonderful. Thank you, Willoughby.”</p><p>His retainer blushes, and nods. “Of course, Your Highness. I believe I ordered tea to the eastern gardens today -” She checks her pocket-book, and nods happily - “So you can enjoy some sunshine today while I run these scrolls down to Tim and Drake.”</p><p>He levies a look at her, and raises an eyebrow. “And then you’ll be joining us for some tea, will you not?”</p><p>For once, Willoughby puts away her formality and treats him to a brilliant smile. “Of course, Your Highness. I even ordered extra scones.”</p><p>The walk to the eastern gardens is thankfully short, just a few hallways and a staircase away. He wishes he could have met whichever past ruler enchanted all the stairs in the castle to move when needed, because the fact that he doesn’t need to waste any of his already-precious energy on climbing stairs is one that he thinks he may not ever get over being amazed by.</p><p>Eodwulf is, as promised, waiting for them in the east garden, sitting at a wrought iron table draped in shadow by the Willow tree presiding above it, conversing softly with - he squints his eyes through the bright sunlight - a young servant who seems to be armed, if he’s tracing the line of their robes right. Curious.</p><p>The servant is long gone by the time he and Astrid tread across the grass to him, Willoughby waving a goodbye before darting towards the messengers’ office, and he sits down across from Eodwulf with a huff.</p><p>“Keeping secrets, are we, Wulf?” He pokes at him with his cane before setting it down in the grass, leaning against the padded cushions. There’s already a spread set up on the table, and he helps himself to a cup of tea and a scone. The cooks have long set aside any pressing urge to serve him directly, unless it’s some event that requires the utmost formality, thank the gods.</p><p>He still lets Astrid take his food and cup for a thorough inspection before he lets them cross his tongue, though. He knows better than to risk another poisoning, not when the first one had almost killed him before he had even managed to accomplish much of what he’s set on doing.</p><p>“Keeping secrets? No, no, of course not.” Eodwulf grins at him, unrepentant, when he gives that false statement the roll of his eyes that it deserves. “Learning them, though, yes. A little silver bird has informed me that your Lord Thelyss has arrived in Zadash.”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>“Ah,” he says, dumbly, and Astrid is kind enough to hide her snicker into her teacup.</p><p>“Apparently he was snatched up by Haas for a tour of the Halls of Erudition the moment he arrived, so we should be thankful if the man hasn’t bored him to death with oppressive cheerfulness and verbosity before he even arrives.”</p><p>He smiles, faintly, at the thought, and nibbles at his scone. Swallows, washes it down with more tea - a wonderful raspberry blend, he thinks fondly, someone in the kitchens remembered from his delight at discovering it last month - and thinks.</p><p>Haas, at least, is not one of the mages in the Assembly that he hates. Well. He wouldn’t say he likes the man, but he’s at least not as directly treasonous, murderous, or insane as his coworkers. If he is, he’s better at hiding it. And the man’s response to Frumpkin calls to mind more of a kinder gentleman in over his head than someone scheming.</p><p>He’s sure that Lord Thelyss is probably still being accosted by the man, bored out of his mind from Haas’s idea of conversation.</p><p>“We are still sure that it is safe to allow Haas to keep power?” He says, slipping into Sylvan. It’s a language uncommonly spoken in the castle, and with the charms surrounding the three of them at all times, it keeps them secure enough for milder conversations.</p><p>“Sure, no, but he is less entangled than Ikithon, Da’leth, DeRogna, and Margolin were. Harder to pin down, if he is at fault of something. And I’m sure he’s… more focused on keeping his nose clean with the current state of things. If he’s wise, he’ll keep focusing on that.” Astrid drains her cup, and refills it.</p><p>“He has little complaint filed against him, by the students who went through the Halls of Erudition as opposed to Soltryce. Mostly faint judgments of - well. Interesting opinions regarding races other than human, which is ironic given his own nature, but I believe he was indoctrinated into that thinking by Ikithon long ago.”</p><p>He nods, and switches back into Common as he sees Willoughby slip in through the outer door. “Well, we’ll just wait and see how it goes. Have you seen the new design that Kiana presented as the tapestry for my quarters?”</p><p>Willoughby slides into the chair left open for her, and passes him a potion vial that he downs after checking the label, grimacing at the taste. The familiar tingle of Healer Quala’s magic signature reassures him that it’s his afternoon dose, and not some random poison that Willoughby’s decided to kill him with, two years into knowing him. He supposed Quala could easily poison him that way, too, but in all honestly, if she were going to do it, it would have been before this point. He’s lived in the castle for long enough that she would have had thousands of opportunities to do so.</p><p>“Oh, good, are we finally getting rid of the <em>fucking</em> dancing trolls?” Eodwulf leans back in his chair, and crosses his legs.</p><p>“I think she said something about phoenixes…”</p><p>The conversation continues, and he writes a mental note to consider more of whether Haas merits further investigation for later. It can wait, at least for now. He’ll inform Olivier to be on the lookout.</p><p>Haas isn’t as bad as some of the others. He can confidently say that, at least.</p><p>He doesn’t trust them - any of the remaining members of the assembly - but he at least doesn’t think they’re actively evil.</p><p>Well. Hopefully not.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He isn’t surprised when the tour turns into Haas smiling, turning, and casting a wave of golden mist over his companions. He isn’t surprised when that mist turns to them blinking, stilling, and turning to stare at the wall.</p><p>What he is surprised by, though, is that he is not immediately treated to the same. Instead, he’s treated to the sight of Haas flicking his fingers, and a door opening, an office visible just inside.</p><p>“Will you join me in my office, Lord Thelyss?  Or would you prefer Essek? Pardon the familiarity, but I believe we have a shared purpose.”</p><p>Essek grimaces, and steps into the office. It’s not like he has much choice, not with his guards and companions stuck in limbo in the hallway.</p><p>“Sit, sit. Now, Essek - pardon my use of enchantment, here. I just wanted to be sure we would not be interrupted by any of those fools - or by your companions, of course. I mean them no insult.”</p><p>He sits, and keeps his voice locked. If he were to speak right now, it would be more of a squeak of terror than any true words.</p><p>“They’ll be fine, fine… just a simple diversion. They won’t even remember anything is amiss, as long as we join them back in the hallway once we are done here.”</p><p>Haas sits, and leans towards him, across his desk. The dust cascading off his arms seems to disappear before it ever touches the wood.</p><p>“Now, Essek, as you’ve probably figured out right now - because of course, you’re a smart man, I wouldn’t dare to assume otherwise - my coworkers had informed me of your role in the conflict. Impressive work, stealing the beacons. Of course, Trent admitted that you needed a bit of encouragement, the first go around, but he had faith that you would serve our cause well. Magic has such an allure, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Haas smiles at him, and it is too kind for a conversation that may as well be a death threat.</p><p>“Your Queen was aware of your treachery, I’m told.”</p><p>He can’t mask his inhale of breath. That - that was never made public, it was a secret between him, his mother, his Queen, his guards, and the one who took the role of Shadowhand in his place. As far as the public knew, he was sequestered away to develop magic to aid the war effort. That Haas knows -</p><p>Good gods, if the King knows, he thinks, desperately. If the King knows that his Queen sent him to be married off as part of his punishment, and not as a good faith act of sending a true lord of the Dynasty -</p><p>“Now, don’t be worried, young Essek. Be assured that I am the only person this side of the Ashkeepers that knows the truth of your treason. All others are dead.”</p><p>His head jerks up, and his eyes widen. He couldn’t have heard that right.</p><p>“Yes, dead. You haven’t heard? Two of the Assembly were sentenced to treason and summarily executed, another two accused of aiding them and sentenced accordingly. Trent, Ludinus, Zivan and Vess… all of them have sadly left our company. Tragic, really, but the Crown Prince seems dead set on undermining the Assembly. A pitiful Archmage he makes, when he’s stripping us of our power in this way.”</p><p>It’s then that he finds his voice. Because he hadn’t - he hadn’t known -</p><p>“Pardon me, Oremid, but did you say that the prince - he’s an Archmage. Which - which position has he taken up?”</p><p>Haas shakes his head, a grim look on his face. “His Highness, Crown Prince Widogast, was appointed the Archmage of Conscription shortly after Zivan was released from his post and sentenced. I voted against his placement, of course, but I believe he’s worked some form of magic upon the other members of the assembly, for all of them - even Doolan, the old twit - put in their word to establish him. He changed the name to the Archmage of Education, but make no mistake, Essek, that man is just as much as a bastard as he may seem. He’s polite, on the surface, but his magic - his actions -”</p><p>He leans in.</p><p>“He’s already, in such a short time, nearly broken the system of religion in the Empire. Did away with all the restrictions, and now free worship is law - and I have it on good authority that he is planning your wedding ceremony to model previously forbidden practices. I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought back blood rituals into it. He’s almost given in and licked the boots of the Cobalt Soul, with how he goes about. If he had his way, the nation would be a writhing mass of commoners seeking to overthrow their betters in a matter of months. He’s perverting the magic of this kingdom, and is a dog that needs to be put down. As much for his own safety as for the safety of this country, and yours.”</p><p>The prince is an archmage.</p><p>Worse than that, the prince is the Archmage of <em>Conscription</em>. The one in charge of sending children to be scourgers, in charge of the Soltryce academy, the one who trains Empire mages to flaunt the rules of magic and indoctrinates them into the fervent nationalism and suicidal tendencies that Empire war-mages are known for – he willingly appointed himself to that role -</p><p>God, his husband to be is a <em>monster</em>.</p><p>“I knew you would see the issues with this, Essek. I’m glad we’re on the same page. It’s much too late to call the wedding off, of course, but I thought it would be worth asking regardless.”</p><p>Haas’s eyes are dark and merciless. “You’ll be close to him, Essek. You will have access to him that no one else will have. And if the Prince happens to have an accident, a few months after his wedding - well, how tragic it will be. Of course, the grief would destroy the King, losing his nephew only a few scant years after finding him in the first place. Of course, the Prince’s widow couldn’t deal with ruling, not when so stricken with grief. Of course, the Assembly would gladly step into that place, to protect the Empire.”</p><p>Essek stares, and then averts his eyes.</p><p>If what Haas says is true - and he thinks it might be, because he hasn’t felt even the faintest hint of a lie in this short conversation - than Widogast might be a worse danger than Ikithon ever was. He’s seen the danger and damage religious fervor for the Luxon had wrought in the Dynasty - another nation with such an arcane background cannot be allowed to fall to a religious tyrant, to one who would limit the worth and pride in the arcane. To another cog in the same wheel, simply a different flavor of awfulness. More children sent to die in the war machine.</p><p>He’s nodding before he can stop himself.</p><p>Gods, this is dangerous, but -</p><p>He’s killed people before. If he doesn’t agree to this, Haas would have him killed regardless, with the secrets he holds. If he does this -</p><p>Freedom. Blessed, blessed freedom. Only a few months away. And a nation of mages that he would have saved. A nation of children that he would keep out of the mouth of the beast.</p><p>“And you would let me go free? If I do this?” He finds himself saying, and he can barely restrain the pure longing on his face.</p><p>“I give you my word, Essek. I will see it done.”</p><p>He smooths his face out. A duty.</p><p>One life, to save what may very well be the lives of hundreds. He is selfish, but this benefits him, in more ways than one.</p><p>He offers his hand.</p><p>“I believe you have a deal, Oremid.”</p><p>Haas smiles back at him, taking his hand. “Let us return to the fools outside,” he murmurs, and Essek follows behind him, the soles of his boots just barely scraping against the rug covering the cobblestone flooring of the office.</p><p>The tour resumes in swift fashion, with none of the others even seeming to notice anything wrong, and if Jester notices his new silence and anxious look, well –</p><p>He was panicking in the carriage, and he is panicking now, but the panic carries a different flavor.</p><p>One death, and he can be free.</p><p>He can handle a few months. He was planning for years. He can handle a few months</p><p>He steels his face, and steps in line with Starosta Fedar, striking up a conversation about the newly announced plans to build a sky-port in both Rexxentrum and Zadash.</p><p>Just a few months, he lets himself think faintly, beyond the distraction of the conversation.</p><p>He can do this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Willoughby, when is the next scheduled Assembly meeting?”</p><p>He drags his hands through his hair - and he shouldn’t have done that, the next time Analise sees him she’s going to berate him for mucking up his braid again - and glances over at his retainer, who’s sitting at her own desk, flipping through her book.</p><p>“In two weeks, Your Highness. A week and three days after Lord Thelyss arrives. I believe everyone should be present, though the Baroness indicated that she may have to leave the meeting early, as she has an appointment with Guildmaster Arness the same day that she expects will be… difficult.”</p><p>He glances at Willoughby and raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Keeping everyone’s appointment books, are you now?”</p><p>“No, just your own, Your Highness. Je- Baroness Iresor simply was very talkative the last time I saw her.”</p><p>Oh, and now she’s blushing - just faintly, the tips of her ears red against her dark hair.</p><p>“I won’t press, Willoughby. Out of all of them, she is… possibly the least annoying.”</p><p>Jenna is… interesting. More of a mind for economics than magic, and the youngest member of the Assembly - well, the previously youngest member of the assembly.</p><p>He takes that role now, as much as he detests it. It wasn’t… he took the position out of necessity and duty, rather than want.</p><p>Headmaster Margolin had to go, he reminds himself. And he’s doing good work, where he is now.</p><p>“Remind me of when the opening ball for the Fall semester at the Academy is?”</p><p>“Third of Fessuran, Your Highness. I believe Margolin set the date before he was… disposed of.”</p><p>Not for months, yet. Thank gods, he still has time to meet with the professors and revise the syllabus before any students return for the fall semester. There are, of course, still a smaller number of students on campus for the summer term, but he can’t change the curriculum at this point, not several weeks into the term.</p><p>He’s met with nearly all of the higher administrative faculty for the academy at this point, to discuss how changes will be made - no professor being allowed to take students on for “private lessons” without a full presentation of those lessons, their plan, and their intentions to the full staff, the immediate dissolution of the Vollstrucker program (not a subject that most professors were even aware of happening at the school, but one that he had been thanked desperately for by the few who figured it out and were powerless to stop it), the change of the structure to accommodate more students who did not present typical arcane magic uses - eventually, he wants to let magic users of all kinds into the school, the source of their powers regardless, but that will take more time than he has at his disposal right now.</p><p>But - now that he knows the opening date -</p><p>“Did… did Margolin set the opening gala on the anniversary of the war starting?”</p><p>Willoughby wilts, and glances away, towards the wall opposite the windows that flood his office with light.</p><p>“I believe so, Your Majesty, intentionally set.”</p><p>He curses under his breath, and Willoughby is kind enough not to reprimand him for it. “Can that date be moved? I would prefer to leave that day for remembrance, rather than festivity.”</p><p>His retainer flips through her book, and hums under her breath before flipping it around, showing him that month’s sketched out plan.</p><p>There are already at least five events scheduled. His work will never be over.</p><p>“Ask the faculty board if the gala can be moved to the fifth, on my recommendation. I will discuss the prior date with King Dwendal to see if he can establish it as a national day of mourning.”</p><p>Willoughby nods, and jots that down, perching on the back of her desk chair. He can’t get her to drop the formality while speaking, but at least while they’re alone she drops many of the mannerisms and behaviors she puts on in public. In private, she can be just his assistant and his friend, and he is happy for that.</p><p>Without a sound, as he’s still peering at the proposed guestlist for the wedding - why he’s the one who has to see this, who knows, it’s not like he has anyone to invite, truly - hands close down on his shoulders, and he flinches before looking up to smile at Eodwulf’s face.</p><p>“Don’t scare the prince out of his skin, now,” Willoughby murmurs, and she turns a page in her book with a snap of parchment.</p><p>“Did Veth and her family get added to the guest list yet?” Eodwulf traces a hand down his arm, and taps at the list. “I don’t see them on here.”</p><p>Ah. Knew he was forgetting something.</p><p>That never used to be an issue, but memory can be a fickle thing, and more of his energy goes into maintaining his health than it does into maintaining his memory.</p><p>“Right, right, <em>danke</em>, Wulf.”</p><p>He scrawls in Veth’s full name, along with her husband, and debates over Luc for a brief moment until he realizes that inviting a five-year-old child to a royal wedding is not something that will do him any favors with the child’s mother.</p><p>If his sense of time is right - and it is, as it always is, thank small miracles for that remaining - then Veth and Yeza should be just finishing up their two o’clock class with the former-scourger students who wanted to learn to make healing potions, which means -</p><p>He pulls a length of copper wire from his desk, and holds it to his mouth, channeling a sliver of energy to cast Sending to his friend.</p><p>“Veth, would you and Yeza come to my study for a few moments? You can reply to this message.”</p><p>Veth’s voice comes through, loud and brash, “Be there in just a sec! If you’re being murdered, start screaming.”</p><p>He huffs out an amused breath, and sets the wire back down.</p><p>Eodwulf pulls back from his shoulders, and leans against the bookcases lining the wall, running his fingers along the spines. Astrid is just outside the doors of the room, but they will most likely switch places one Veth arrives - it’s been almost an hour since their last break. As much as he would love to have both of his partners with him at all times, leaving the door of the room unguarded is not safe for any of them.</p><p>It seems he’s correct in his musings because Wulf gives him a single pat on the shoulder before opening the door enough for Veth and Yeza to slip in, and for him to trade places with Astrid. With a click, the door is shut and locked once again, and he feels the silence and privacy charms reassert themselves.</p><p>In a few seconds, Veth has stripped off her disguise, hugged Yeza, and then all but jumped into his arms, and he hugs her back carefully.</p><p>“<em>Hallo, spatz</em>. How was class?”</p><p>“Only three explosions this time, so I think they’re getting better.” Yeza slips into the chair positioned next to Willoughby’s desk, and rests his head on his chin.</p><p>“Ulrich and Pepper spent most of it arguing over a cauldron over who would be the one to do laundry once they returned home, and their distraction meant the potion they were working on burnt, and… well…”</p><p>Veth pulls out of the hug and drops back down to the floor, swinging her arms out wide. “Massive explosion, Caleb, you should have seen it. I’m not sure if we’ll ever get the stain out of the cobblestone.”</p><p>“What healing potion <em>explodes</em>?” Astrid asks, and Veth perks up, her ears swiveling towards the other woman’s voice.</p><p>“We were working on experimenting with those weird fruits that Tversky brought from the Velvin Thicket. A couple went rotten already - it’s a shame - but with the others, we’re trying to mix the normal process to imbue them with healing ability, and extrapolate that so that the fruit itself is used to create a higher class of healing potion. Not that we told the kids that, they just think they’re making normal healing potions s with fruit flavoring.”</p><p> “Is that really the best way to teach them elementary techniques? With uncontrolled experimentation?” He glances down at his goblin friend, and raises an eyebrow.</p><p>She scowls back at him. “No, but we thought it would be more fun this way. Right Yeza?”</p><p>Yeza nods, and pushes his glasses up his nose. “We’ll do typical potions next week, pretend it’s really hard, and when they succeed, they’ll feel all the more accomplished.”</p><p>“A fair strategy. Just don’t come complaining to us if they manage to blow up that one, too.” Astrid swings her feet off the side of her chair, and sits sideways. “Do the charms on your rings need renewing, Veth? I can put in a word to Pumat.”</p><p>Veth pats her hands together, thinks for a moment, and then shakes her head. “No, I should have at least another few weeks on this one, the silver inlay hasn’t started tarnishing yet. Do you need any potions restocked?”</p><p>“I don’t think so… Caleb?”</p><p>“Hm?” He yawns, and stretches out his arms, relishing in the movement. “No, I don’t think so. Unless Eodwulf’s gone through all the pain killers with the migraine last weekend.”</p><p>“No, I checked the bathroom cabinet and there’s still plenty. I think he just roughed it out, gods know why.” Astrid unbuckles her pouch, and rifles through the expansive magical space inside. “And I’ve got… three greater, five normal, six antidotes, an emergency pain killer, emergency blood replenisher…” She sticks her whole arm into the dimensional space, and comes out holding a leather-wrapped bundle. “And I’m definitely good on poisons.”</p><p>“Alright, alright… just the ones we need to get for Quala, then, remind me of that later Yeza?” Her husband nods, and she steps over and plants a kiss on his hairline, leaning against him in the chair.</p><p>“He arrives tomorrow, doesn’t he?”</p><p>Veth’s voice cuts any sense of cheerfulness in the room, and he restrains the urge to shiver.</p><p>Everyone’s staring at him, now.</p><p>“He does, yes.” He refuses to make eye contact, and shuffles through the papers on his desk, instead.</p><p>“If he isn’t nice, I’ll kick him in the balls.”</p><p>He blinks, and glares at Veth. “<em>Nein</em>. You will not kick a foreign dignitary in the - good gods, <em>spatz</em>, he could have you <em>killed -</em><em>”</em></p><p>He cuts off the sentence before it goes somewhere darker, and slumps down in his chair, resting his head in his hands.</p><p>Gods. He still can’t believe this is happening.</p><p>“You will come to the wedding?” He mumbles, and lifts his head, resolutely staring past Veth and to Yeza, instead. “I was going to have you sit with Caduceus, during the feast.”</p><p>Yeza frowns. “He won’t be with you?”</p><p>“Ah - no. I will be… sitting with the King, of course, and Lord Thelyss, and I believe - I believe the Bright Queen, as well, with whoever they bring to sit on their side of the head table. Caduceus will be at the table with you, and Willoughby, and whatever non-military Lord Thelyss brought as part of his entourage, I suppose. Play nice.”</p><p>“I’m assuming Eodwulf and I will be on duty during the feast and ceremony?” Astrid doesn’t look disappointed, merely exhausted. He commiserates. He wishes it didn’t have to be like this.</p><p>“I’m afraid so.” He lets his head fall back into his hands, and stares at his desk, tracing the wood grain.</p><p>Things had been going so well. He doesn’t do well with change. He doesn’t want his routines to change.</p><p>Astrid and Eodwulf can continue to be his guards, but once Lord Thelyss enters this castle - he isn’t sure whether it will be safe to keep letting them warm his bed at night. Not unless he told Thelyss of his relationship to them, but that puts him at risk of having the marriage dissolved for his infidelity and breaking the carefully wrought peace between their two empires.</p><p>Gods, what a mess.</p><p>“It won’t be that bad, Caleb.” Astrid sits on the desk in front of him, and gently lifts his head up, her hand on his chin.</p><p>“You’ll always have us. Even if things might look bad now. We’re not going anywhere.”</p><p>————</p><p>“And where do you think you’re going?”</p><p>Essek stops, his hand twitching back from opening the flap of his tent, and turns around slowly, staring into the face of one very unamused Beauregard Lionette.</p><p>“…Outside?” He ventures, and winces when Beau’s glare grows darker.</p><p>“Outside, yeah, sure. Alone? No, dude, what the hell.” She steps in front of him, and pulls the tent flap back, pushing him through. “C’mon, before you wake up the others.”</p><p>He scowls, and steps out behind her. Honestly, it’s not like he was planning on <em>going</em> anywhere. Just to get some fresh air. Some space to think.</p><p>“You need to go, or something? You - no offense, but you look constipated.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, and heads off into to the tree line. If Beau’s going to bother following him, he might as well get some air. He needs to think.</p><p>Tomorrow, he will meet the king of the Dwendalian Empire, and he will meet the Crown Prince. He’s not sure which meeting he’s dreading more.</p><p>“Did something happen in Zadash? You’ve been pissy since then.”</p><p>He stills, and then keeps walking, eventually leaning against a low tree stump to stare up at the sky. Little pinpricks of light from the stars above shine through the leaves.</p><p>“Nothing <em>happened</em> in Zadash, Beauregard. I simply had… a most enlightening talk with Archmage Oremid Haas.”</p><p>Beau sucks in a breath through her teeth, when he finishes telling her - leaving out how Haas enchanted the rest of his entourage, and how he agreed to commit an assassination - and sits down on a root across from him, folding her legs. “You - Essek, you know that you can’t trust a word those bastards say.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes again. “He didn’t lie to me. Trust me, I am remarkably familiar with the actions of someone lying to me. What he told me was the truth. He told me -”</p><p>He eyes their surroundings, and then glances up at the stars again. The faint red light of the smaller moon seems to stare out at him. A watchful eye.</p><p>“I am selfish, Beauregard, but even I wouldn’t let a nation fall to tyranny if I could stop it. Call it foolishness, but I would like to think I’m better than that.”</p><p>Beau sighs, and shifts so that she’s closer to him, one foot pressing into his own in a solid weight.</p><p>“What are we going to do about him, then? I can work with the Soul - they must be suspicious of him, if he’s trying to get into their good graces like that. And if he’s charmed them into submission, I should be able to figure that out. And Jessie and Fjord - they’re good at listening, they can work to get to know the other guards and see what they say. Molly and Yasha are… a little less inconspicuous, but they can work with the palace staff, see what servants think of him. There will be a weak link somewhere, a weakness that we can manipulate.”</p><p>He stares at her, and she rolls her eyes. “What, you thought I wasn’t going to believe you? I’m <em>from</em> the Empire, Essek. I know just how deep that corruption runs. People deserve better than another tyrant on the throne, Dwendal was bad enough already.”</p><p>“I’m glad - hm.” He pinches his eyes shut, and tries again. “Thank you.”</p><p>“What are friends for?”</p><p>He shrugs, and deadpans, “Committing treason?”</p><p>Beau raises a hand, and he gives her a weak high five.</p><p>He’ll - if they investigate and she and the others agree with how much of a risk Widogast is, he’ll tell them. About - killing him. It’s too risky to tell her of that now.</p><p>He’s good at keeping secrets, after all.</p><p> </p><p>The morning dawns bright and horrifically hot, as the others pack up camp around him. They - he had tried to offer, early into the journey, but had been firmly rebuffed. He wouldn’t be much help, either, to be honest, but at least he had offered. Instead, he sits on the steps into his carriage with Liliana and Sindar, a parasol floating precariously above their heads as they wait for the others to finish.</p><p>“Will the king - or the prince, I suppose - will they require you to get a new wardrobe? I don’t have the faintest knowledge of fashion trends in the Empire.” Lili pulls at the sleeve of his robes, and frowns. “It’s warmer here than it is in Rosohna, but I’m fairly certain that the winters are colder… do you know whether they use mainly wool for winter clothes, Sindi?”</p><p>Sindar jerks up, from where he had been half-asleep against the carriage, and narrows his eyes. “Probably wool? I don’t see why they would use anything else, unless people use layered linens, but I can’t think that’s very effective in the snow or wet.”</p><p>“… You took your meds this morning, right? I don’t want you to fall asleep in front of the new people at the palace -” Liliana fusses, and she and Sindar gently bicker around him while Essek keeps staring out at the quickly disappearing camp.</p><p>In just a few hours, he will be meeting his future husband. That he’s agreed to kill.</p><p>Gods, how does he get himself into these messes.</p><p>Soon enough, he’s back in his carriage as they start towards Rexxentrum, this time with Lili and Yasha crammed into the seat opposite him. Lili has her legs up on his seat, to take up less room, her braces unlocked to let her legs bend enough to squeeze in the small space. Yasha was flicking through a small book, turning pages gently, and Lili was engaged in a sting contest with him.</p><p>Well, either that, or she’s trying to read his mind, but he’s mostly certain that she can’t do that.</p><p>“Do I have to hide my symbol in the capitol?” Lili blinks, finally, and gestures to the pin on her cloak, the silver and blue tones of it glinting in the light. “The briefing said some gods were outlawed here, but I couldn’t figure out if that meant like, just no official endorsement of them? Or if it was like, oh you worship Corellon, jail for one thousand years.”</p><p>“Ah… it was like that, the second one, but I was recently told it had been repealed. But please, Lili, be careful.”</p><p>She wrinkles her nose. “I’m careful, you know I am. Old Rotamy says that he’ll miss us at the temple.”</p><p>“Does he, now,” he mumbles, mind already wrapping back to politics. The Empire had restricted religion for so long, to keep citizens submissive and easily controlled. He’s not sure what the purpose of Widogast repealing that law is, beyond just - encouraging dissent, maybe? To pressure the King to be overthrown so that he could step into the power vacuum with the remaining Assembly members controlled and meek at his side?</p><p>He needs to do some spying, and to do that he needs to at least try and be polite to Widogast. Try and get in his good graces, so he can peel back the layers of secrecy to reveal the truth.</p><p>Fake being a good husband, fake falling in love, and when his guard is down, kill him for the betterment of the nation. Easy.</p><p>He’s such an idiot. Such a - really, Essek, what did you think would happen, you broke your trust with your Queen and was caught for treason and only pulled off not being executed by the Crown for what he had done, he has a sentence to serve and this is part of it -</p><p>“Are you ready, Essek?” Yasha’s voice is like a soft chime, and he jerks out of his thoughts, glancing out the window to reorient himself.</p><p>He can see the wall of the city, looming ahead. He must have been more lost in thought than he had thought if the hours flew by that fast.</p><p> Rexxentrum is massive, in a way that makes his head hurt as they approach the gates. Towers in the center raise above the walls, imposing figures against the mountains in the background, and the ramshackle array of buildings that fill the city within the walls are more claustrophobic than Rosohna could ever be, even with their lack of space issues. And gods above, it’s bright.</p><p>He and Liliana squint their eyes against the sun as they pass through the gate of the city, the guards on either side saluting them as they roll through. His impressions of the city don’t grow any fonder the further they trot in. In a short while, they pass through another wall, and he knows that they’ve entered the heart of the city now, the walled-off area of the Academy, the Candles, and the palace with all its grounds and lodging for guards and servants.</p><p>Slowly, slowly, they stop in front of the massive iron-framed gate that leads into the palace grounds, and with a creek, they swing open ahead of them. In another instant, they’re stopped at the main doors of the palace, and he lets the curtains on the window fall closed as he tries to get his breathing under control.</p><p>“Shall we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, and rises, brushing dust from his robes.</p><p>Time to make an impression.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>waves! next chapter should be out within a week. if you're confused by any of the background ocs, just send me a message and i can write up a list!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Essek wishes that he could say the palace was impressive, but frankly, that would be a lie. A monolith of dull grey stone with blackened stone tiles lining the towers and roof, it was rough where he expected smoothness, bulky where he expected grace. It was as far from elven construction styles that you can get while still being a <em>building</em>. He’s biased, of course, but he hates it on sight.</p><p> The main entrance to the castle is a large cobbled courtyard, a few patches of grass and trees shoved in the corners as the road leads up to the massive set of stairs that lead to the doors into the main hall. On either side of the yard, the entrances to the soldier’s barracks - he assumes that’s what they are, at least, judging from the symbol plastered across the banners - and another building, one that he can’t place. Servant’s quarters, perhaps. A prison. Some terrible laboratory, where the Assembly sacrifices children -</p><p>Well. Probably not that.</p><p>… Probably. If that existed, it wouldn’t be out in the open.</p><p>The people standing outside the front steps are little better than the castle itself. Dressed in drab colors - he has to resist the urge to sneer at the coarseness of some of the linens he sees on display, fabric well-suited to a warm summer but not at all beautiful or delicate - and with little decoration, the group stares at them solidly as they make their way towards the steps.</p><p>When they are a few paces away, He slows, and then drops into a low bow, the other members of his party following suit.</p><p>He puts his thoughts away, and comes up smiling.</p><p>The King is there. He recognizes him from his portrait, a man that the years have not treated kindly, the heavy crown of gold and jewels sitting above his brow. He bows to him, first, and then to the man next to him.</p><p>Dark blue silk robes, so blue as to be almost black. Intricate tablet-woven borders in woolen threads of gold and white, like stars scattered amongst an endless void. Light leather gloves, fingerless, runes imprinted on them that he can barely make out. A cane - or a staff, but something, a long rod of wood and carvings that almost has his eyes widening in surprise.</p><p>Long, red hair, set back in a complex braid that frames his face.</p><p>Freckles, he thinks, for some reason struck by the feature. Lines around his eyes that make him appear kind.</p><p>The Prince.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” He murmurs, and nods to Widogast. “Your Highness. It is an honor to meet you both on this blessed day.”</p><p>King Dwendal smiles at him, a ravine opening in the expanse of his face. “Lord Thelyss. We welcome you to the Empire, and to Rexxentrum. I trust that your journey found you well?”</p><p>He falls into the familiar back and forth of political niceties, and smiles back. “Yes, your Majesty. Your Empire is as beautiful as they come.”</p><p>“Kind words, kind words. Shall I introduce you to my nephew?” Dwendal places a hand on Widogast’s shoulder, his rings glinting in the harsh sunlight. “His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Caleb Widogast, Archmage of Education.”</p><p>Widogast nods at him, his eyes dark. “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Thelyss.”</p><p>Essek finds himself once again struck by the other man. The voice is - well, it’s not what he had been expecting, not the refined tones of a Rexxentrum upbringing, nor the slant of the dialect spoken in the south. Instead, his voice tends towards a language he hardly remembers, tales of the Zemni Fields and their eventual takeover a faint memory from his history classes in his youth. It’s -</p><p>He stops himself. A voice is a voice. His opinions on how pleasant it is in his ears are meaningless in the face of what he must do.</p><p>“And it is my honor to be in your presence, Your Highness. May I introduce my companions?”</p><p>He waits, for the King to nod, and then gestures back, towards his entourage. “My retainers, Liliana and Sindar of House Thelyss, who have come with me from Rosohna. My chosen personal guards come from many places, but they will be best known to you as the Mighty Nein, I believe. Jester Lavorre -” The tiefling in question waves - “Fjord Tusktooth, Beauregard Lionette -” The two bow, and raise, Beau’s face set in a grim line, “- and Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin. I take responsibility of them as members of my household, though I hope they can find work and acceptance within your halls to join in the protection of this nation.”</p><p>“We will see them settled, of course. The others who accompanied you may take their leave to Xhorhas until the wedding, if they are comfortable, but any who wish to remain may stay. Olivier?”</p><p>A gnome, well dressed in a silk waistcoat and linen breeches, is at Dwendal’s side in seconds, a tufted tail flicking behind him.</p><p>“See to it that quarters within the guard’s quarters are assigned to Lord Thelyss’s group. And - Will you wish your retainers to dwell in rooms set off your chambers? Until the marriage, of course, you will be housed in the Western suite.”</p><p>Essek blinks, and then nods, trying not to let his relief show on his face. Liliana and Sindar will be close, then. He can keep them safe.</p><p>“Very well. Olivier, work out the details of that with Queselia, have fresh linens stocked in the side rooms and have one of the on-duty mages make sure the doors lead to the right places. Shall we head inside, Lord Thelyss? I know that the sun must be harsh, to you.”</p><p>King Dwendal gestures, and the entourage behind him starts to ascend the stairs, the doors above swinging open into the receiving hall.</p><p>“We will proceed with full introductions once we are inside, and then perhaps some dinner, I think. Or, ah - do you prefer lunch? I can never keep track what you young folks are calling things…”</p><p>The King turns his back to him, and drifts away, his gnomish retainer keeping pace at his side.</p><p>It’s more difficult than it should be to keep his confusion from showing on his face.</p><p>Because - for one, he is almost certainly older than the King by a good forty years.</p><p>And for another, he was not expecting him to be <em>kind</em>.</p><p>Widogast looks at him, for a moment that lingers just a little too long, and nods to him again. “As I said, it is an honor to meet you, Lord Thelyss. I hope -”</p><p>The mage coughs. “I hope you will be happy here.”</p><p>With that, Widogast turns, and proceeds up the stairs - stairs that, much to his amazement, shiver with energy and transform under the Prince’s feet, and move, a single step carrying him to the top without the man himself having to make any movement.</p><p>A useless waste of magic, he thinks sourly, and levitates up the stairs after him.</p><p>He cannot let his guard down. This is in public, he reminds himself.</p><p>The true colors will reveal themselves later.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His first thought, on meeting Lord Thelyss, is this:</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>His second thought is in the same vein.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Because Lord Thelyss is beautiful, in a way that he’s not sure he’s seen before and that he’s not sure he’ll ever see again. He had seen a portrait of the man, yes, but paint did his features little justice, now that he has the real thing to compare it to.</p><p>He seems uncomfortable, when he greets him upon the steps - a first meeting that took place on his request, because he had vetoed the King’s initial suggestion to keep them from each other until the date of the wedding with as much vitriol as he could summon - his ears flicking in the sunlight, a nervousness that belayed the polite smile on his face. He’s probably scared, Caleb reasons, as he keeps pace with the group on their way to one of the more formal dining rooms. God knows he would be terrified, if the wedding had been chosen to take place in Xhorhas, if he knew that this was the first day and the first meeting of a relationship that would have to last for the rest of his life.</p><p>But Essek seems to be taking it well, the ear flicking besides, and Caleb lets himself draw back. The Mighty Nein - Thelyss’s personal guards, it seems - are vaguely familiar to him, some faint memory of a tournament in Zadash that Astrid had mentioned in the foggy months he spent recovering from the curse that nearly killed him. He tightens his grip on his cane, and steps a little more heavily, the recollection of pain sitting like lead in his bones.</p><p>He does not enjoy remembering that curse.</p><p>He will introduce Lord Thelyss to his own retainer and guard later in the day, perhaps, once the King has retired to his actual business and he can show the other man around. There are parts of the palace that need explaining, what doors to open to find rooms and courtyards, what doors to avoid for fear of wards still written into their makeup in ancient blood, what doors to be wary around because the people who live beyond them are grumpy at all hours.</p><p>But, again, that is for later. For now, he takes at seat next to King Dwendal at the head of the table, and nods to Thelyss to let him know that he should sit next to him.</p><p>It’s not a formal meal, after all, and the etiquette doesn’t require them to sit apart unless the meal includes members of the public. He can let him sit next to him, and hopefully strike up a conversation over lunch.</p><p>Lunch is served in short order, and once he’s through a large chunk of his soup, his bread dragged through to soak up the last drops, he turns to the drow, and smiles, a small faint thing.</p><p>Behind him, he feels the heavy weight of Astrid’s eyes.</p><p>“Was the food to your liking?”</p><p>Lord Thelyss jolts just barely in his chair, and lowers his eyes towards his empty bowl. “It was a fine meal, your Highness. I’m sure you are immensely proud of your cooks.”</p><p>Caleb laughs under his breath. “They would be delighted to hear you say that. Mallory is constantly chasing me out of the kitchens between meals.”</p><p>Lord Thelyss nods, and returns his attention to his plate, his face flat.</p><p>Hm. Perhaps a different line of questioning?</p><p>“Would you like a tour of the palace once the meal has finished? Or would you like to settle into your rooms, first?”</p><p>Thelyss inclines his head. “Thank you for the offer, Your Highness, but I would not want to inconvenience you. The tour can wait until I and my companions are settled.”</p><p>Caleb nods again, and eyes the table. Willoughby is out at the moment, standing in for him at a meeting with the authors of the new textbook he’s funding for experimental transmutative arcana - he wishes he could have been there, but he will make it to the next one, other duties be damned - so his afternoon is, for once, at his leisure, at least until dinner. He promised Veth and Yeza that he would join them in celebrating Luc’s half-birthday.</p><p>But if Lord Thelyss wants to settle in, he cannot refuse that. He deserves some peace and quiet, after such a long journey, and more introductions and other social functions can wait until tomorrow.</p><p>“Of course, of course. Shall I lead you to your rooms?” Everyone around them has finished eating, and the King himself is already pulled into a terse whispered conversation with Olivier, the soft sounds of Zemnian slipping into his ears. Nothing improper to talk about it public, of course, just - well, they’re actually gossiping about whether the new Archmage of Civil Influence has a daughter or not, but that’s not his realm to pry in.</p><p>Lord Thelyss nods, and stands, the other members of his group getting up to follow him.</p><p>“Your Majesty, I will be showing Lord Thelyss to his rooms now. May we take our leave?” He bows to the King, and Dwendal nods. “Then I will see you tomorrow, Your Majesty.”</p><p>He hesitates, and offers Lord Thelyss his arm. The man stares at him, ears pressing back before straightening, and then takes it, stepping into line with him. Caleb’s taller than he is, he realizes. He can see the elvish etched into the jeweled bands adorning his ears.</p><p>He leads him out from the room, and the rest of his entourage falls into place behind him.</p><p>“You may either take dinner in your rooms, or I can have one of the informal dining rooms set up for you to eat this evening. Simply inform one of the hall-guards of when you would like dinner, and I will see that it will be done. The King has placed you in the Western suite -” He’s monologuing, at this point, but his nerves are swiftly taking leave of his senses, “- there is your own study there, and - well, a bedroom, of course, and a bathroom and such, a parlor. If you are in need of cleaning, or help, the bell next to the front entrance will call someone to attend to you.”</p><p>“Thank you for your generosity, Your Highness.” Thelyss’s eyes don’t make contact with his face, but instead roam somewhere south of his chin, lingering on the heavy chain around his neck that bears the weight of his Assembly pendent.</p><p>“Ah - of course,” Caleb murmurs, discomfited. They walk in silence for another few minutes, and he turns, left and then right, and then up a small flight of stairs - and here they are, then.</p><p>He pushes open the door, and holds it, gesturing for the others to proceed inside. “Your suite.”</p><p>The main door leads to the parlor, couches and a low table gathered in the midst of a room lined with bookshelves, most shelves bare but a few bearing fiction and nonfiction alike. He’s sure that it will fill up with trinkets in no time, even if Lord Thelyss will only be residing in these rooms until the wedding, a few weeks away.</p><p>“I will… leave you to get settled in, I suppose. I wish I could join you for dinner, but I have a -” He pushes away the word party, and chooses something less insignificant, “- a prior engagement to attend to. I wish you well.”</p><p>He lets his arm slip out of Thelyss’s, and bows, jerky and awkward.</p><p>“I will see you tomorrow, Lord Thelyss.”</p><p>Thelyss nods at him, his eyes dark. “Til tomorrow, Your Highness.”</p><p>He wrinkles his nose at the name, and lets his shoulders drop, the formality weighing on him.</p><p>“You can call me Caleb, if you’d like. I see no reason that we should have to stand on formality between the two of us.”</p><p>The drow turns towards him, and smiles.</p><p>It doesn’t reach his eyes.</p><p>“And you can call me Essek,” the man murmurs. “I will see you tomorrow.”</p><p>Caleb blinks, nods to the rest of the group, and turns back towards the hallway.</p><p>He tries to feel like he isn’t running away.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Essek shuts the door with a thud, waits - a moment, thirty seconds, a minute - until the sound of footsteps has disappeared into the distance.</p><p>“Fjord, check the rooms, see if we have any listeners. Jester, Yasha, if you can help me with warding the door -” The people around him burst into motion, the setting up of a temporary residence familiar to them after their long weeks on the road.</p><p>He drops to the ground, folding his legs under him, and feels around the door frame. On the left side, he had seen a discolored patch of wood - there, he thinks, victorious. The panel slides off, and the thick clay of a temporary warding structure meets his fingers. There’s already a privacy ward on the door - sound made within doesn’t get out - and a basic locking mechanism, but nothing else. No spying charms that he can find, at least at this entry point, but he’ll have to check all the doors and windows in the rest of the rooms. He holds his hand out behind him, and grips the small dagger that Jester carefully lays in his palm.</p><p>It’s easy work to carve in another protection rune and a stronger lock on the door - no one will ill intention to him or his companions will have an easy time getting through this door unless they know that the ward is there, and he’s not likely to tell anyone. If Widogast - <em>Caleb</em>, he sneers mentally - tries to get in here in the dead of night to do away with him, he’ll find a nasty surprise coming his way.</p><p>With that done, he leverages himself upwards, and glides to the windows, preforming the same task over and over. There are no spying charms that he can find, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. He won’t feel safe here unless he knows for sure that it’s secure, and that’s just not going to happen anytime soon.</p><p>With a huff, he sits on the couch - dark green, itchy and <em>terrible </em>- and lets his head fall to his hands.</p><p>“Oh, come off it, Essie.” Liliana slides in next to him. “Don’t be a downer, the Prince was so nice! And lunch was delicious - do you think the staff cook like that all the time? I hope so… and the rooms are so pretty, we have windows! And we can see into the garden below, and there’s a lemon tree down there - it’s nice here. And did you see how the stairs move? Isn’t that cool?”</p><p>She’s trying to cheer him up, and he’s going to let her.</p><p>He raises his head, and stares instead around the room, taking in the bare decor. It’s not what he would call pleasant, and it doesn’t suit his tastes, but they won’t be staying here for long. After the wedding, he will -</p><p>He’s not sure, actually, if he will share rooms with the Prince - Caleb - or have his own connected suite, or some other option that he hasn’t considered yet.</p><p>He frowns at the thought of Caleb.</p><p>The other man had been… nicer than he had expected, at least on the surface. Polite and formal to a fault. Who even knows what he had been thinking, all through dinner. Probably about how he was going to head to an Assembly meeting and talk about experimenting on children.</p><p>Archmage of Education. Ha.</p><p>What a nice way to hide.</p><p>“The rooms are nice, Liliana. Have you and Sindar picked out where you will sleep?”</p><p>She nods, and he gets up from the couch, looking around. Only Lili and Sindar, as well as the rest of the Nein remain, his guards loitering awkwardly around the room.</p><p>Not merely his guards, but his friends.</p><p>He is glad to have them here.</p><p>“Shall we get things set up? I figure it will be easier to eat dinner in here, tonight, while we get used to…” he trails off, and sighs.</p><p>“You know what I mean.”</p><p>Beau crosses the room and rests a hand on his shoulder, and he’s forced to make eye contact with her, her eyes serious but her face smiling.</p><p>“First day of the rest of your life, man,” she says, and he hides the wince. “Better make the most of it.”</p><p>“I’d better,” he echoes, and he pushes the thoughts of the Prince aside. He won’t be meeting him properly until tomorrow, it seems, since Caleb was too busy to even spend an evening with his future husband.</p><p>For now, he has things to unpack.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes him a silent five minutes to walk back to his own quarters, resolutely refusing to look back and meet the knowing expression that he <em>knows</em> is written on Astrid’s face. He pushes open the door to his rooms, steps in, and lets Astrid shut it behind him as he sinks into the couch.</p><p>God, he’s an idiot.</p><p>“I’m an idiot,” he says aloud, and Astrid snickers as she locks the door.</p><p>“You are, yes. ‘We don’t have to let formality stand between us’ - ah, yes, Caleb, let’s just fall in love with him the first day you meet him -”</p><p>He groans, and curls his legs up onto the couch. “I wasn’t expecting, I wasn’t expecting him to be -”</p><p>Hot, handsome, white freckles like stars in the sky, he thinks.</p><p>“- charming,” he settles on verbally, and ignores how she’s starting to laugh at him.</p><p>“He is very pretty; I will admit that.” Astrid leans across the back of the couch, and pats his hair. “Polite, too. A little uncomfortable, but who wouldn’t be?”</p><p>He glances up at her, and she kisses the tip of his nose. “I’m sure he’ll realize soon just how much of a dweeb you are.”</p><p>Caleb scowls and throws a pillow up at her, and she laughs, dodging it with a practiced ease. “Like you’re any better.”</p><p>“She’s not the one trying to deny that you have a <em>crush</em> on him -” Eodwulf sings as he steps into the room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes from his impromptu migraine induced nap. “I’m assuming you do, right?”</p><p>He feels his face reddens, and sinks deeper into the couch cushions.</p><p>“I don’t have a crush,” he mutters, staring at his hands.</p><p>He just thinks that Lord Thelyss - Essek - is… handsome, and pretty, and polite, and charming -</p><p>Ah, fuck.</p><p>Well. There are worse things than crushing on the man he’s going to marry.</p><p>… The man that he must live with, for the rest of his life.</p><p>He swallows.</p><p>Worse things indeed.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>waves. new chapter! please leave a kudos, and leave a comment!</p><p>i have a friend visiting this week, so the next chapter might be a little longer than a week away - or it could be sooner, if i get slammed by motivation, but probably expect it somewhere around wednesday next week!</p><p>stay safe out there &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please don't throw things at me if you read my other fics, im well aware im so behind on updates, this idea just posessed me and begged to be written so i'm going to be focusing on this one from now on until it's DONE. i'm already a decent chunk of the way through the next chapter, and am optimistic to keep this updated on a frequent basis. if you haven't read my fics before - hi! i'm byrd, i'm blumenkrew and shadowgast trash, and i have good ideas sometimes. </p><p>leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed! or if you hated it, or if you have questions - anything, really. i thrive on interaction.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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